


Turning tables

by CrazyChicken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyChicken/pseuds/CrazyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, sometimes I feel like you're not even trying anymore. You know I think what’s the problem? There’s no real prize. When we play football, you’re great, because it’s important. It’s about winning titles and stuff. This is just about nothing. You can’t win <i>me</i>, because you’ve already got me.” Mario grinned mischievously. “But what if there's more at stake?”</p>
<p>(They play table tennis and Mario is really good at it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning tables

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back, I hope. :)  
> I spent this summer playing table tennis and then all of a sudden I thought "hey smut" and this happened. It's far from the best thing ever written in the history of Götzeus smut, but well. I apologise for any mistakes that are probably in this work.  
> I've been meaning to write topping Mario for a while and I hope that's okay, and if not, it's still okay with me.  
> Thank you if you read this, and thanker you if you leave a comment, and thankest you if it's a good one ;)

Mario asked Marco to come over after one of their less intense practice sessions, challenging him for a table tennis game and Marco agreed despite the statistics. He had lost fourteen times in a row, Mario having the obvious upper hand every single time they got together to play, and the only thing that was bearable about the defeat was the way Mario lit up after winning. It was something Marco had gotten used to in the past half year, after their triumphs in both the Bundesliga and the Champions League.

Marco didn’t always seem the perfect son-in-law, with his tattooed arms and his wicked lock-your-daughters grin, but he made more than up for that with his polite behaviour.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Götze,” he greeted Mario’s mother at entering the kitchen. “That smells delicious! What’s in the oven.”

He tried to peek but she gently pushed him away. “Oh boy! It’s apple pie, for after dinner. Are you staying?”

“I’d love to,” Marco replied, glancing at Mario as if he was asking for the approval he didn’t need to wait for.

“I’ll count you in,” she replied, returning to cutting vegetables.

Mario shook his head laughing at he pulled at Marco’s sleeve. “We’ll be in the basement playing table tennis,” he said to her, dragging Marco downstairs.

“Will you go easy on me this time?” Marco asked as he threw his jacket on a chair in the corner and headed over to the table where Mario was waiting for him, eager to start.

“Never,” he said, and served.

“Good,” Marco answered, hitting the ball and dividing his focus between his words and the game. “I hoped you’d say so,” he added, as Mario scored his first.

 

“You know, sometimes I feel like you're not even trying anymore,” Mario said after winning the first set 21-15. “Like you're just kind of letting me win because you like to see me happy.”

“Of course not!” Marco protested, and it was true. He was just really, really bad at this compared to Mario.

“You know I think what’s the problem? There’s no real prize. When we play football, you’re great, because it’s important. It’s about winning titles and stuff. This is just about nothing. You can’t win _me_ , because you’ve already got me.” Mario grinned mischievously. “But what if there's more at stake?”

Marco grinned back, understanding. Just like on the pitch, no words were needed between them. Instead, Marco threw the ball back to Mario. “Your plan, your service.”

“Best of five?” Mario asked, just to be sure, and Marco nodded.

“Rules as usual.” There was a change in Marco's way of game, the kind of change that Mario had often seen during football practice. He swayed his hips a bit more every time he hit the ball and, when he had lost a point, made sure to poke out his butt when bending over, and it was like he was saying: “Here I am! Take me!” Sometimes it even seemed like he was letting them go through on purpose, just to act out his sexy behaviour. But he was trying too hard, Mario realised. He didn't want to lose this one.

Despite his eagerness to win, Marco lost. Won one set, lost the fourth 21 to 14, as if he had given up long ago. 

“Bend over, babe,” Mario shouted out, but Marco shook his head.

“We promised five sets, we'll play five sets.”

Mario was a bit grumpy, but Marco made it a quick set, because he didn't need the delay with Mario getting all excited over winning and Marco getting all excited over, well... Mario.

The brunette jumped and shouted, celebrating his victory, as Marco leaned casually against the side of table, waiting a meter or so away from his lover.

“Now come collect your prize, boy,” he said in a teasing low voice, raising an eyebrow and smiling. He crooked his finger and motioned for Mario to come. The latter didn't need to be told twice. Their bodies met with two quick strides as he planted his lips possessively on the blonde's mouth. He felt him smile into the kiss and pushed his lips apart with his tongue, and _god he tastes so good_ and Mario could have sworn that just staying like this for the rest of his life would have been just fine if it meant Mario's eternal presence as a promise, but then Marco wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He could feel Marco's hips crashing into his and it was painfully good.

Mario grazed his teeth over the skin in his neck while fumbling with his belt and Marco moaned softly in response. Mario pushed his hips into Marco's thigh and quickly got rid of their T-shirts, because Marco could be such a tease, but he had been waiting for this for _five whole sets_. There was no time or need for proper foreplay, both guys already heated and horny and hot for each other.

Mario yanked down Marco's jeans and boxers and unexpectedly took the base of his cock in his hands, and when he went to his knees, Marco sharply sucked in a gulp of air. As Mario guided the head into his mouth, he breathed it out again, loudly. The hot wetness around his shaft made him moan and shudder and all he could do was hold on to the tennis table.

Mario took him in half before he started bobbing his head. Although they both knew Marco gave the best blowjobs (Mario liked to blame that on his experience; Marco was always practically on his knees whenever Mario entered the room) Mario was driving him insane. Teasing licks all the way down to the base of his shaft, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked Marco, and those eyes... maybe it wasn't his body or the dirty sexual act, but his eyes. When they looked up at him, they were murdering him, slowly and painfully, shining and silent and beautiful, and Marco wished he could keep them there forever. Not necessarily just above his cock, just _there_.

But Mario climbed back up his body, leaving a trail of tongue and kisses all over his stomach and chest and neck, to where their lips reunited.

“Bedroom,” Marco whispered instinctively, in his head already on the white sheets and reaching over the drawer, behind the pencils and notebooks, to where he knew Mario hid his ‘stuff’ as the prudish guy liked to call it.

“Can't,” Mario hissed, drawing circles around Marco's right nipple, then rubbing it with his thumb, just like he knew would drive him crazy. “My parents are upstairs and we can't go past like this.”

Marco looked down at his naked self as Mario took a step back to take off his own remaining clothing.

“True. But. Lube.” He forced the words out of his mouth, unwilling to talk much in a situation like this where the lower part of his body was burning with empty passion. He pulled Mario back in and felt his body reacting to the nice sensation of skin. Mario humped up against him, trying to create some friction, and Marco's hand reached for Mario's bottoms, pinching and pulling him apart, running a finger along his hole, before he realised he wasn't topping today.

“Spit,” Mario suggested.

Marco tensed at the idea and backed out of the kiss a little. “Mario. It's been ages since I...”

“Last bottomed, I know,” Mario sighed and bit his lip. “Unless you've been with that slut since the last time I topped you.”

Marco gently pushed against his shoulder and laughed. “Stop saying that! I told you I wouldn’t for a million dollars fuck Robert.”

“Sorry.” Mario closed the distance again, couldn't stand not touching Marco. He was too beautiful to remain untouched. Marco seemed deep in thought. He was playing with Mario's dick like someone in thought would normally play with the phone wire or the strings of his sweater.

“It's okay,” the blonde said at last.

“But I mean it, I won't say it again if it bothers you that much.”

Marco laughed and a dimple appeared on his cheeks and Mario couldn't resist kissing it. “No, what I meant was, it's okay. I'll take it. I'll take your dick. Here.” He blushed a little, just enough for Mario to see it.

When Mario realised what he meant, he grinned and resumed their kiss, as he pushed Marco back on the table. “Good, 'cause I've been meaning to fuck you on this table ever since we started playing.”

He bit down Marco's collar bone before digging his fingers into Marco's hips and turning him around. He kissed between his shoulder blades while his hands wandered over Marco's front, and he realised the height difference was awkward, but he couldn't get himself to care, because this was his prize and he fucking well deserved it.

“But, Mario,” Marco started, reaching a conclusion in his head. “We weren't even _together_ when we started playing table tennis.”

“I know,” Mario whispered in his ear, before bending him over the table. His arse was pale and bare before him, and it was beautiful. He need to lean down and kiss him, all the way from his tailbone down the middle to the tight ring of muscle, and when Mario kissed him there, he whimpered at the touch, in anticipation.

Mario pulled back and leaned over Marco, his cocked pressed firmly against his butt as he offered his hand to Marco, who gladly sucked in three fingers and coated them all with saliva.

The first entrance was hard, but Marco refused to make any sound, because he was tougher than that. He knew what would follow anyway, knew that, any moment now, Mario would curl his fingers and he'd moan. Knew that it wasn't until Mario was all the way inside him that he felt utterly complete again. Mario did indeed curl his fingers and then Marco did moan, but Mario drew back too soon and Marco cried out unintendedly and begged for Mario to stay inside him.

When Marco peeked over his shoulder, Mario was steadying himself behind him, and then the head of his cock pushed against him and then past him and Marco felt like he was going to pass out, but he didn't because he wanted to live every single second of this.

Marco took in another few centimetres and groaned as he felt his face and neck turn red and hot, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

“You're doing well, baby,” Mario comforted him and he ran a soothing hand across Marco's spine, using the other to hold his hips in place.

Marco, however, didn't need to be told he was doing well. “Just. Get. The fuck. Inside,” he ordered and then, with one quick thrust, Mario was all the way inside, and Marco was groaning at the new sensation.

He let Marco get used to the intrusion and then started moving slowly. It was good, it was deep, but it wasn't as mind-blowing as he remembered from the last time, and all of a sudden he knew why.

He pulled out. “Turn around.”

Marco was a little confused, but then Mario hastily said: “I wanna see your face when I fuck you,” and that was kind of the hottest thing Marco could imagine, so he did as he was told, lay down with his back on the table, and watched as Mario pushed his knees to his chest, improving the leverage, before he pushed back in.

Marco was digging his nails into his own thighs, bracing himself. Little drops of sweat were running down his neck and forehead, meeting in his brow and in that little spot between his collar bones. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes were clenched shut and his mouth was slightly open, dirty sounds escaping from it.

Mario needed to kiss him, taste him, feel him press back into him, like they both knew they weren't supposed to be any further apart then buried deep inside each other.

And as they moved and shifted together, Marco found that one sweet spot inside of him (Marco knew Mario's body so well it took him approximately two point four seconds to find it and drive him nuts) and Marco screamed out his name. He tilted his hips so Mario would draw a similar sound from his lips with every thrust. Marco was loud during sex, and Mario loved it, moaning back in return.

“M-Mario,” Marco sighed, and it was his way of saying a lot of things at the same time like “I'm so close” and “I need your hand on me” and “I want you.” Mario quickly wrapped his fingers around Marco's cock and moved it to the rhythm of their hips, twisting his wrist a little at the end the way he knew Marco liked. It wasn't long until the latter lost himself in white spurts over Mario's hand and his own stomach, and Mario swore to himself he'd lick it all off later on, when he was done, and the mere thought of his tongue on Marco's white covered skin made the orgasm build up in the pit of stomach to a point where he needed only a few deep thrusts before he came deep inside Marco.

Mario fell on top of him and they lay panting in silence for a few minutes, before he pulled out, leaving a small white puddle on the table where it leaked out. He did as he had sworn to himself, licking Marco clean, and it tasted kind of bitter, but he swallowed it all anyway because it was Marco.

“I love that we can do this,” Mario said as he lay down on the table next to his boyfriend. It wasn't much of a bed, but his legs couldn't carry him any longer, and the table would do for now.

“What? Have sex?” Marco grinned, but his eyelids fell close.

“Yeah, that too. I don't know, just, have simple sex. Have a quickie on my dad's table tennis table.” He turned his head to Marco. “You know you're the only person I'd do this with, right?” he added, for good measure.

“Yeah, I know.” Marco smiled. “I'm the only person you'd do _it_ with anyway.”

Mario didn't deny it. “I love that too. That we're exclusive and that we can fuck bareback carelessly.”

The way Mario talked about sex was so sexy to Marco and he could already feel his cock twitching again. He knew he shouldn't, but...

“Listen,” he started, against his better judgement. “Right now I'm tired and stuff, but within, say, thirty minutes, I'll be good to go again. Do you think I need to win five sets in order to fuck you or are you just gonna let me?”

Mario grinned, tried to hide his grin trying to play hard-to-get, failed. Then he realised it was stupid to play hard-to-get, because Marco already had him.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he promised, and it was going to be hot all over again, but for now, Marco pulled him close to cuddle up with him, naked on a tennis table. Far from conventional, but it couldn’t be closer to perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> If I feel like it there will be a chapter two in which "the only thing that was bearable about the defeat" has kind of changed in meaning. Do tell if you'd like that ;)


End file.
